


needle and thread

by serendipitea



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insecurity, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Trauma, Zutara Week, Zutara Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25623310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitea/pseuds/serendipitea
Summary: The stillness in the royal chambers is often disturbed by panicked inhales that cut through the tranquility of the night. This time however, the silence is broken by crying.(zutara week 2020, prompt: affirm)
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 155





	needle and thread

Katara had realized over the many years in their relationship that what Zuko needed more anything else in the world was her words.

When he moved impossibly slowly and then finally gave her a hug to tell her he would be happy even if they remained just as friends, Katara knew. When he blinked several times before he held her hand tightly to ask if she was sure when she said she’d stay, Katara knew. When he waited several moments before he pressed a desperate kiss on her lips, one winter night as the wind howled around the palace gardens, Katara knew. When he hesitated before he pulled her close on their wedding night, arms wrapped around her and forehead nestled in her neck, Katara knew.

Zuko needed to be affirmed.

Perhaps it was because he was never very good with his words.

He relied on touch more than anything. He would reach for her hand to tell her he was worried. He would rest his head against hers when the world felt like it was crashing down on top of him. He would kiss her forehead when he wanted to promise her everything would be alright. He would interlace their fingers when he was trying to tell her how important she was to him. He would press his lips to every part of her face when she needed to know how proud he was of her accomplishments. He would haul her up and spin her around when he felt like the luckiest man in the world to call her his.

And Katara would meet his hands and kisses and embraces with her sweet words. She would tell him that he was stronger than he knew, that he could get through anything, that he was a bringer of peace and harmony. She would say he shines brighter than the sun he is descended from, that he brings warmth to everyone he loves, and he is a reincarnation of the comfort the light brings in the morning. She would say he truly supports all her endeavours, he motivates her even in the most gruelling and difficult days, and he stands by her, unrelenting like waves under the moon’s command. She would say that she is happy because she chose him, she is grateful that he chose her and that she couldn’t bring herself to live any other way.

It would make him smile wider than he ever would for anyone else. And that would make her love for him grow ten fold— No, more. More than even she, an almost waxing poet, could ever put into words.

Now, when she is stirred awake in the night by her husband’s sudden jolt and sharp breaths, Katara knows once again. He needs to be grounded, and never is there a better way than her words.

He’s sitting up in bed, his hands are clenching the bedsheets with such strength she is afraid fire might spill from his palms in seconds.

“Zuko?” Her voice is serene, flowing into the silent room.

His eyes snap to her as he turns.

When he sees her slowly shifting to sit up, he breathes a sigh of relief. She is still here.

Katara doesn’t ask what is wrong, because by this point in their life together she knows. She knows that he is tormented by nightmares, that they drive away his sleep and make him weak when they persist for nights on end. Usually, they are incited by stress and do no good in further terrorizing him, making for an inescapable abyss that drowns him in pain. She doesn’t know exactly what his hurt and barely healing mind conjures but she hears him murmuring sometimes. ‘Father’ and ‘I’m sorry’ and her name are the things that slip out of his mouth in his sleep. She isn’t sure what the dreams are but she knows how excruciatingly painful they can be. She knows how he sits up at times and kneads the heels of his palms into his eyes till he sees stars. How he clenches his teeth agonizingly hard when he squeezes his eyes closed to stop the tears from spilling. How on the very worst of his nights he makes himself burn his hand to make sure he’s real— that he isn’t still trapped in a dream.

But tonight, different from all other nights, the hot tears fall from his face freely.

“Katara,” he chokes out.

He falls forward, and she catches him in her arms as her back hits the mattress. He shifts quickly, pressing his ear to her chest. He stays impossibly still for moments longer than Katara can count until he finally breathes again. He is checking if she’s real. That this isn’t another illusion, that she is really his. And that she is safe. He buries his head into her neck, searching for solace. She holds him as tight as she can, arms wound around his neck. 

And Zuko cries. The sounds he makes are broken and sore, like his soul is tearing apart in fear. His arms tighten at her waist, hugging her to him desperately. Katara’s whole neck is wet but she never moves. She simply cards her hand through his hair and waits. She hates seeing him like this, she hates what his own mind does to him, but all she can do is be patient.

When his eyes have run dry and there is nothing left to hear in their dark room, he takes a shaky breath and kisses her neck, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” she says, gentle as ever “I told you never to say that.”

He nods the best he can. Zuko lifts himself, pulling his weight off her and balances himself on his elbows. He watches her, and then pulls one hand up to comb away the strands of hair from her eyes so he can see them better. So he can escape the bright red fury of his insecurities. So he can drown in her bright blue ocean. He sighs as he blinks, eyes weary and burning from exhaustion.

“I had a nightmare.”

She brings her right hand up to cup his cheek, her thumb strokes his scar slow and soft as ever. He leans into her touch, closing his eyes and sinking into the comfort.

“I was scared,” he pauses right as he begins. His eyes scrunch shut almost like he’s willing himself to remember, just so he can tell her this once. He never shares. It is always more than he can bare to see the nightmares, let alone to discuss them when he thinks they are over. And even more so comes the difficulty of articulating his trauma and anxiety and heartache into words.

But tonight he is trying. He is trying his very best because Katara should know. She has been more than patient with him, even when he collapses in on himself and refuses help. She still tries. And so should he. For her.

He opens his eyes to look into hers. It is so much easier to speak when he can see the tranquility emanating off her.

“I was scared. Because—” he swallows, “Because I hurt you.”

Katara frowns, her hand falls to his arm giving him a squeeze.

“I hurt you like my father would hurt my mother. And you were gone.”

“Zuko, you wouldn’t—”

He cuts her off, “It was like our fights from before. From when I was my father’s pawn. But it was worse. Because I was angry— But more angry. I couldn’t control my anger. Like my father. And I chased you and I hurt you. And there was so much fire I couldn’t see. And you were gone, Katara. I k—”

“Zuko,” she cuts him off urgently.

She doesn’t want him to say it. If he says it, he will believe he is capable of doing it. And she knows he isn’t. He never was. He was resentful and arrogant and troubled and eager to please, but he was never a murderer. He could never be the man he fears to become. He could never be his father. His aching soul would fight till the last bit of light has been pulled from it before he would ever become his father. Katara knows it, but she wishes he did.

He shakes his head, pulling himself up and away from her, “How could I?”

He seats himself away from her.

“You didn’t.”

He looks away, scowling.

“Zuko, listen to me,” she sits up and gently pulls his chin to make him face her again, “I chose you. I chose to stay with you. I chose to stand against every obstacle the world wants to throw at us, for you. And I would do it again. And again. Every life, I would make that decision over again because I love you. You. Not the man you _think_ you are. Not the man you’re afraid of becoming. But _you._ Strong, brave, gentle, persistent, loving, and honest.”

His lips quiver and he blinks quickly as his eyes water.

“You need to understand that you aren’t your father. That you will never be him. You have to believe me. You have to believe that I know you better than the awful darkness that plagues your mind.”

He wants to deny her consoling words, because his heart aches when she says it. It hurts because he wants so badly to believe it but something always holds him back. His sickened mind tells him that her words are hollow, just false pretences meant to quiet him. After all, how could he deserve such sweetness. Even the _ability_ to conjure such an awful nightmare owes itself to show that he is a monster, not just in his marred skin but also in his wretched mind.

A puff of air leaves her nostrils, like she can’t bear to hold her breath anymore in wait.

His eyes stare her down.

And now, when she looks at him like he is her whole word, he knows he can never surrender to the fight with the dark parts of his mind.

He nods slowly, “I’m— I’m trying.”

Her expression softens further. Because he is trying. He is doing all that he can to be the ruler their nation needs: firm enough not to be played like a puppet, flexible enough not to be broken by a hundred years of hatred, and optimistic enough to bring his nation back to glory that is worth being proud of. And he is trying even harder to be a better man than he was years ago: patient enough to allow for mistakes, calm enough to not feed into instigation, loving enough to be a good husband and strong enough to heal himself. He does it all simultaneously, under all the weight of the world, and he never complains.

She has seen the change since she the day she chose to stay. The growth from boy to man and the desperation in his eyes to always be better. He barely shares his internal struggles, but he tries because Katara tells him his mind is something that will boil him alive if he doesn’t speak. Over the years, he has learned how to tell her about the traumas of his childhood. He has learned how to tell her that his mind repeats the words of inadequacy his father drilled into him since birth. He has learned how to tell her that he is terribly afraid of being someone she grows to hate, because he is forsaken by his lineage of angry, possessive, abusive men. He has learned to be vulnerable and she has noticed that it has lightened the load on his heart, slowly but surely.

“I know you, Zuko,” she says, “And I trust you. In ways you can’t begin to imagine even if you put your head and heart together. I believe in you. Just like I believe that all the dragons and spirits and Agni himself is in awe of you. I am proud of you. For all the good and peace and harmony and beauty you’ve brought to our nation and the world. And I love you. Infinitely, like I could never love anyone else. And unconditionally, because none of your flaws could ever drive me away. And ceaselessly, like if I ever stopped loving you my heart would stop altogether.”

Zuko looks like he might cry again.

He leans forward, one hand coming to hold her waist and the other to her cheek, he stops a hair’s breadth away. He looks into her eyes, watching the way her pupils dilate and the blue in her irises glints when the moonlight enters their room. And he kisses her, soft and sweet, just like Katara is.

And she knows what it means, these are his words, his responses. When his lips meet hers and he kisses her so gently, he is saying he loves her with all the devotion and care like he did the first time. When he pulls away to kiss down her neck, he is saying she is so beautiful that he is always entranced by her. When he winds his arms around her and drowns himself in her scent, he is saying that he is more grateful for her than anything else in his life.

Katara knows the language Zuko speaks in. And the language he understands.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! please let me know your thoughts in the comments!!


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